


Soundbooth Seduction

by XiuChen4Ever



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Misuse of a Professional Environment, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 12:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19992214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XiuChen4Ever/pseuds/XiuChen4Ever
Summary: Minseok has a hard time keeping it together when producing Chen's latest single.





	Soundbooth Seduction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unnieunnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unnieunnie/gifts), [BlitheBoa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlitheBoa/gifts).



> The devil made me do this. And by the devil I mean [@BumbleBoa](https://twitter.com/BumbleBoa/status/1154845183265116160) who draws the best kind of filth and encouraged by [unnieunnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unnieunnie/pseuds/unnieunnie) who writes the same.
> 
> Quick little unbeta'd PWP slammed out in 90 minutes while Bumbleboa drew the above porn and unnieunnie ate a sandwich. But then later unnieunnie blessed us with [Jongdae's POV](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20006581) which you should also read for best results.

On paper, Minseok appreciates the fact that Nation’s Singer Chen insists on only using him to record and produce his songs. It’s a big feather in his cap and he’s almost got more work than he can handle thanks to Chen’s high praise on interviews and in the liner notes.

But in person, Minseok almost dreads the recording sessions that make them both so professionally successful. It’s not that the man’s difficult to work with. On the contrary, everything about Chen seems easy. Way too easy.

Easy like the way his impeccably-tailored suits always hug his body perfectly. Easy like the way the lyrics flow from Chen’s golden throat. Easy like the ready smile the singer always has for his favorite producer.

It’s only Minseok’s professional attitude that keeps him from mashing his face against the dials of the soundboard in front of him. Well, professionalism and a sense of vision preservation—taking one of those little knobs to the eye would be a little  _ too _ effective at mirroring his mental pain with the physical.

“Good afternoon, Minseok-ssi!” Chen greets, always bright in his demeanor and proper with his manners. His suit is a deep cobalt today, brighter sapphire shirt beneath the open blazer drawing the eye to his tapered torso, black silk necktie tugging attention to the singer’s seductive throat.

“Good afternoon, Chen-ssi, it is always a pleasure to have you in my booth.”

Shit, why did he say that? Pleasure? Have you in my booth? What’s wrong with a simple “nice to see you again?” Minseok’s polite smile is a rictus.

“Of course, Producer Kim. I only record with the best so of course I’m back to work with you again.”

Was that a wink? Absolutely not. Get your head in the game, Kim Minseok.

“Thank you for your kind words! Er, what are we working on today? Another single?”

“Yes, this one’s a bit different from my usual but you know me—always willing to try any genre once.”

“Ah well I’m sure if you’re singing it, it will be a hit as usual, Singer Kim.”

Minseok accepts the music portfolio with both hands and a bow, opening the plastic folder to find sheet music, lyric sheets, and a thumb drive with the demo files. He makes quick work of the setup as Chen warms up his voice, trying to ignore how the singer’s rich lower range makes heat pool in his belly.

Unfortunately it seems that Minseok will be subjected to quite a bit of that lower range today, the demo track playing in his ears having all the hallmarks of what his sister would refer to as a “panty-dropper.” The slow, sensual rhythm of the song combined with that ear-melting voice is surely going to be responsible for more than a few babies making their way into the world. 

Humming along with the melody line, Minseok leaves one ear free of the headphones in case Chen needs him to adjust the levels of the singer’s monitors. He reaches for the lyric sheet, curious as to how the singer-songwriter’s usual flowery poetry will be applied to this type of song.

_ Ooh, baby, gonna suck you down. _ __  
_ Lick your stomach, make you moan. _ __  
_ Slide my fingers in your hair _ _  
_ _ Babe, my hands are everywhere._

Minseok stalls out completely. He’s not sure where he is or even who he’s supposed to be and all he can think about are Chen’s stocky fingers, his silver rings, his short, well-manicured nails and that’s not even mentioning the singer’s mouth, the way his lips curve automatically into a smirk even when he’s wearing his Serious Singer face, the one where his eyes are squeezed shut and his eyebrows kip up in the middle and he shapes his vowels with a wide mouth and a sensual tongue  _ oh hell—  _

“Minseok-ssi?”

The producer jumps, welcoming the stinging from where his knees impacted the underside of the desk because it’s distracting the blood from collecting in his groin.

“Sorry, Singer Kim. What was that again?”

“I asked if you could tune the left monitor a bit. It sounds a little bright for this song.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.”

The blood is now collecting in Minseok’s cheeks instead. Usually the singer is so intent on his work that he barely lifts his head to glance at the producer through the soundproof glass between them but today Chen is watching Minseok with a pleasant smile as he attends to the man’s request.

This is so not okay. Minseok cannot seriously be expected to sit here and listen to the smoothest voice in the world purr pornography into his ear. This beautiful man, standing relaxed in front of the microphone in his handsome suit, looking like a particularly attractive children’s music teacher, earnest and pure. This fiend, who writes all his own lyrics and has decided to sing blatantly about sexual pleasure and who has the audacity to ask Minseok to record it.

This has to be a breach of his contract somehow. The Nation’s Singer can’t just go around murdering poor innocent producers via nosebleed. There must be a law.

“Should we take it from the top, then, Minseok-ssi?”

Minseok raps his knees on the bottom of the desk again, something he always laughed at Chanyeol for doing with his ridiculously-long legs. There is a good twenty centimeters between Minseok’s thighs and the underside of the kiosk. How the fuck does he keep running his knees into the wood?

“Uh, yes, of course, Singer Kim. Please, whenever you’re ready.”

The producer plays the song’s intro into Chen’s headphones and hits record, watching the singer bob his head gently to the beat of the song.

“Ooh, baby, gonna suck you down—”

Minseok rips the headphones from his ears. Nope. No. Fuck to the no. This is not something he can listen to without spontaneously combusting and/or ruining his pants. He is not walking out of his professional place of work with either a nosebleed, a boner, or a jizz stain over his crotch.

“Is everything alright, Producer Kim?”

No. No it is not.

“Oh of course. My, um. Headphones were just turned up too loud. Startled me. I must have bumped the slider or something…”

Minseok lets his ramble trail off as Chen blinks innocently at him over what cannot possibly be an actual smirk. That’s just how his lips are, Minseok, stop staring at them for fuck’s sake— 

“Oh. Well if you’re comfortable, may we continue?”

No. Because he’s not comfortable. Comfortable, right now, is not something Minseok is capable of being.

“Of course, Singer Kim. Sorry for the interruption.”

Chen dismisses the apology with a sweet (not wicked) smile, then closes his eyes to croon the filthy lyrics into the microphone. Minseok’s only recourse is to mute the angelic devil so the words never make it to his ears. Chen’s a professional. He’s his own harshest critic. He knows as well as Minseok what’s a good take and what needs redoing. He’ll just save the clips Chen expresses satisfaction over and make Chanyeol mix them. Yes. Good plan.

“What did you think of that last line, Producer Kim?” 

Shit.

“It seemed… good?” 

Chen’s always good. He’s not capable of actually singing badly. There was that one variety show (that Minseok may or may not have downloaded a copy of to hoard in his shameful folder labeled “meaning of life, cause of death”) where Chen sang his latest romantic lovesong while tipsy and still managed to hit all the high notes— 

“I’m not so sure, I think that I went a little sharp on the word ‘booty.’ Do you think I hit the ‘booty’ a little hard?”

On second thought, blinding himself on the narrow knobs of the soundboard would give him a legit reason to run screaming from the booth.

“Uh. Your ear is as good as mine. We can hit the line again if you want.”

“But Minseok-ssi,” Chen asks through what is  _ absolutely _ a smirk. “How can I hit it again if I’ve not managed to hit it at all yet, despite trying for over a year?”

Minseok blinks.

“I’m not sure—”

“I’m very sure, Minseok-hyung. You’re older, right? I read your profile  _ thoroughly. _ ”

Chen opens the soundproof door so he can prowl that smirk right up to Minseok. The producer swivels his stool to face the threat but that was dumb because now the singer’s standing right between his legs, crowding Minseok up against the soundboard.

“Jongdae,” Chen says.

“W-what?”

“My name’s Jongdae. My stage name is for fans to scream. My real name is just for  _ you.” _

“S-scream?”

What the fuck is wrong with him? Minseok is a grown-ass man with an excellent vocabulary. He should  _ not _ be reduced to stammering single-word sentences even in the presence of a celebrity.

An incredibly sexy celebrity. Who shrugs off his suit jacket. And then presses all that sapphire blue silk up against Minseok’s serviceable white button-down and the hammering heart beneath it.

“Minseok-hyung. I have been trying to seduce you for months. Chanyeol said you were way too professional to notice unless I took. Drastic. Measures.”

These measures come in the form of a hand on Minseok’s hip and another twining into his hair.

Minseok stares at him, frozen in shock.

Jongdae grins. “I’m gonna kiss you now. Blink once for yes and pass out for no.”

Minseok blinks. He does not pass out, even when those smirking lips press against his own. 

A moment later, he manages to part his own lips, moving them in response to the enticing pressure of Jongdae’s glorious smile.

A moment after that, his own hands release their death grip on the desk behind/beneath him and make their way to the taut little body beneath the sapphire silk. They curve around Jongdae’s narrow waist, loving the feel of the slender strength beneath his palms.

Jongdae practically purrs in response, pressing closer and probing with his tongue. Minseok grants him access, fisting the smooth fabric in his hands. Jongdae tightens his fingers in Minseok’s hair. Minseok releases a low moan shamefully akin to a squeak.

Jongdae’s laugh is a symphony of wicked fondness.

“Minseok-hyung. I want you so bad. You’re a menace in those crisp white button-down shirts. Those perfectly-pressed slacks. I wanna muss you up, take you from professional to panting.”

“Job done,” Minseok huffs, trying to control his rapid breathing and racing heart.

“Good,” Jongdae smirks. “Now are we going to tolerate Chanyeol’s obnoxious whooping or Sehun’s traumatized yelping?”

Minseok sighs.  _ Roommates. _ Damn the limited real estate of the city. Damn himself for wanting to live close to the building he and Chanyeol both work within.

Working within is a concept Minseok can work with, at least.

“The booth is soundproof,” Minseok says, voice high and breathy as Jongdae sucks hard against the twitching skin over his collarbone.

A filthy rumble is Jongdae’s response.

The next day Minseok’s professional button-down shirt conceals several love bites and an impressive grid of circular bruises arrayed over his back, the result of being vigorously fucked against the soundboard hard enough to break off a few of the narrow little knobs.

With the profits from Chen’s next successful album (with entirely poetic lyrics not mentioning sucking or licking anything, thank fuck), Minseok buys himself a fancy touch-screen replacement.

It’s much more comfortable to be folded over, and much safer. He wouldn’t want to be the one responsible for blinding the Nation’s Singer with a narrow little knob, after all.


End file.
